“Abishag? What an awful—”
Bill turned from him with an impatient gesture. He called to the cat, “Abishag! Abishag!”
With upreared tail the fine creature trotted to him.
“Good Lord!” George broke out. “Is that your cat, Bill?”
Bill turned upon him. “My cat! You know thundering well it's not my cat.”
“But it knows you, Mr. Wyvern,” Mary told him wonderingly.
There was sorrow, a look of pity in this young man's eyes as reproachfully he regarded my Mary.
He swung round upon George. “George, you've made a fool of me once—”
“I don't know what on earth's the matter with you,” George told him.
With knitted brows Bill for a moment searched his face. “I ask you point-blank,” he said slowly. “Did you steal this cat, George?”